


Circle

by creativwritingmind



Series: Two [36]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Friendship, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10061225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativwritingmind/pseuds/creativwritingmind





	

Without a hurry, without the urge to get there soon, he walked down the empty hallways, escorted by the fall of his footsteps and the worrying glances following him. "Again?" they asked silently, not expecting him to answer, still wanted to let him know that they knew, that they were just as helpless as himself about it. His head hung low and it hurted, it had been like this for days, weeks, or months now. And no matter what Tyler did...he couldn't make it stop.

It wasn't calmness that took him over while he aimlessly strolled around, checked the various bath- and storerooms, releasing a relieved breath every time he found one empty. It was defeat ripping him appart inside with every time he opened the doors, knowing that behind one of them he'd find him. Tyler was tired of the lies, oh so tired of it all. He couldn't hear the promises anymore, couldn't stand the way Mark stepped into the bus with his eyes cast to the ground to tell him that it might have happened again. 

The most awefull part was how long it had taken him to recognise, it had turned into a shadow of guilt that followed him closly as he passed grey walls on a grey floor as the world ran out of colours. Another door, another possibility. Maybe he'd find him alive...maybe he'd be dead, they never knew these days. Tyler wished he could push the thought aside but sometimes he wanted it to be over. The texture of the wooden door huddled against the tips of his fingers as he pressed it open slowly and stepped into the cold, unpersonal light of the nearly blind lamp on the ceiling. 

At least this time the floor was clean, Tyler had learned to point out the benefits along the way. At least it was not some dirty, soiled gasstations bathroom, somewhere out on the highway. Starting to whistle a song, just to feel not so lonely, to let his ears hear human noise he cautiously pushed the stall doors open, one by one, taking in the messages, the marks, the burnholes on them. Finding him in the very last Tyler leaned on the door frame for a moment, stabilizing his breath. He should have been used to the sight by now. He should not have started to cry. Still he did every time. 

Waves of his sadness running down his face he acted methodical then. Tyler knew the process by then, knew how to carefully drag the needle out of his friends vein, how to loosen up the belt on his arm, how to make sure he had not already chocked on his own vomit. Again they had failed. Again he hadn't seen when it was to late. Again Josh had faked him out with no afford, just to continue to destroy himself further. 

Leaning the others head against the toilet, sitting down crosslegged in front of him Tyler took a moment then to recover. He was tired and drained and desperate and cold. He was just as miserably as Josh would be feeling when he came down from his high again. A circle of ups and downs, ending and starting everytime with them there, on the floor, in some room, in a world they didn't seem to belong. It hadn't been their fault that they broke. Tyler knew it, still he couldn't stop to take the blame. 

He could have said something, when it started, when Josh began to flee the reality in certain kind of ways. But he kept silent, thinking his friend were old and strong enough to know where to stop, but finding too soon how wrong he had been. Now, in the silence of the white tiled prison they found themselfs once again in, Tyler wished hard he could go back to the old days. The days where Josh laughed. Where he cried. The days he had been still alive. 

Tyler knew this was not the end, they were too far away from it, still they were on the road there, dashing down the highway to the inevitable fast. Yet all he would do was call Mark again. Yet all they would do where carry him back, into his bunk, to rest and come down. All that would follow where the groans and the pains and the panted confessions, the pledges and tears and the knowledge that he lied. And then the circle would start again.


End file.
